


Clash

by CoralFlower



Category: Homestuck, Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Interpersonal Genius!Sans, M/M, Traumatised!Eridan, friendly reminder that eridan is a 13 year old child in canon, hes just really good at body language, sans knows what youre thinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-03-04 12:42:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13364943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoralFlower/pseuds/CoralFlower
Summary: “Hey, Sins, was it?” You’ve found that the best way to throw people off is to interrupt their monologue before they can start. And it looks like you’ve succeeded.He cuts off in the middle of a greeting, and carefully inclines his head in what’s meant to be a lazy gesture, corrects you like it doesn’t matter, but you think he actually cares.“Sans, actually. Like Comic Sans, the font. Usually that helps people remember, but you don’t seem to think my jokes are very comical, eh?”





	Clash

**Author's Note:**

> found this while digging thru my google drive. written in late 2015. i was 15 then so i dont remember exactly what i was thinking but i think i figured sans and eridan would have interesting interactions if they ever met, especially if they met in the context of a no mercy route.
> 
> this was before i figured out how to format dialogue so im very sorry for the atrocious formatting.

You take out your knife, because this place is creepy as hell and sort of reminds you of your land, back in your previous life. You’d feel better if you had a wand of some sort, but you never found an opportunity to get one. Ah, well. The knife works well enough. And at least this place isn’t colorless like your old planet, even if the architecture is somewhat similar. 

You’re walking forwards slowly, cautiously. You feel like you aren’t the only one here, you can’t be the only one here. It’s like when that one skeleton guy was following you, you think his name was Sins or something. 

And then you see him. You don’t speed up, don’t slow down, don’t give him any indication that you’ve seen him. When you’re about ten metres away from him, you stop.  
“Hey, Sins, was it?” You’ve found that the best way to throw people off is to interrupt their monologue before they can start. And it looks like you’ve succeeded. 

He cuts off in the middle of a greeting, and carefully inclines his head in what’s meant to be a lazy gesture, corrects you like it doesn’t matter, but you think he actually cares.  
“Sans, actually. Like Comic Sans, the font. Usually that helps people remember, but you don’t seem to think my jokes are very comical, eh?”

You don’t respond, and after a while he comments:  
“This must be your first attempt; you don’t seem very annoyed with me yet.” You tilt your head, uncertain what he’s talking about.  
“And that means?” His grin stretches larger.  
“Don’t pretend you don’t know. The timelines, splintering off and disappearing when they don’t go your way.” You grin, then, because you actually know what he’s talking about.  
“Oh, the doomed timelines. Well, don’t worry, I don’t plan for this one to go that way.”  
“You speak of this so casually, but I don’t think you understand what it’s like on the other side.” You laugh, then, mirthlessly and without restraint.  
“Don’t assume you know what I’ve experienced in a previous life.”  
“So this isn’t the first time you’ve done something like this. You just move on from world to world, manipulating, killing people like it’s some sort of game, never considering that they have lives and emotions that--” Something in your expression breaks, and if you were paying attention you’d be able to see it in his face as he rapidly adjusts his conclusions in light of this new evidence, but you’re just caught up in remembering, remembering your friends, your friend singular, who you didn’t kill but never apologised to, you never apologised to him, and he cared about her, they were practically pale, and even if you don’t regret killing fef you do think killing kanaya could (should) have been avoided. You stand there motionless, glaring at the floor, for a long moment, combating the whirlwind of memories and betrayals in your mind, because you’re finished with acting out of anger, you’ve lost too much by doing so to feel like it’s worth it now. 

Once you’ve gotten yourself under control, you look up at him, and he’s watching you carefully.  
“I intend to kill you, first of all, but before that I’d like to disprove several assertions that you’ve made along with several that I’m sure you’re thinking but haven’t yet voiced. Beginning with this idea you’ve got in your head that I have no empathy. You see,” You break off then with a shudder, suddenly sent back to when fef and you had a shouting match over feelings and she accused you of not caring. The skeleton leans forwards, not even bothering to conceal his interest at this point, and says,  
“Am I to assume you’ve experienced some traumatic event in the past that you’re currently thinking about?” You glare.  
“‘s none a your fuckin’ business wwhat I’m thinkin’ aboat-- about. Damn.” You can see his interest, you hate it. “Fine. I kr- killed your brother. You told me not to, I did it anywwavve. You said I’d be gettin’ a bad time; ok, but can you just get the fuck on wwith it?” He tilts his head, acts like he’s thinking about it, shakes his head no.  
“Nahh. I’ve gotta know why, you know? You don’t just become a dirty brother killer with no motive, after all.” Your grip on the handle of your knife tightens.  
“Dunno. He believved in me. Wwanted me to make a certain choice and thought I’d’vve made the other if he didn’t say anything. Assumed he could predict my actions, put me in a box. But mainly it’s just cus he thought he mattered.” You snort derisively. “Idiot.”

Sans’s smile freezes on his face, and you can see his intent as he keeps his tone casual. You’re already doubting your own words as he begins speaking, because it’s obvious he cares about his brother, a lot.  
“You killed someone.” You flinch. “In that previous life you were talking about. You killed someone.” He pauses for your confirmation, and instead of giving it to him you simply motion for him to continue. “Probably on accident, in a moment of anger or fear.” You clench your teeth and move a muscle that would’ve flared your fins out if you still had them. “And you hate acknowledging it. And there’s something you regret not doing. You probably never got closure. It’s messed you up.” You scowl.  
“Wwhy are you tellin’ me all this? Actin’ like I wwasn’t there myshell- self. Myself.”  
“...You were a merman.”  
“Wwhat the fuck is a merman?”  
“Human but with like, a fishy tail.” You snort.  
“I wwas a fuckin’ prince.”  
“Hmm, in the movie it was the princess who was the mermaid. Is your name Eric by any chance?”  
“Eridan.”  
“Elaborate.”  
“Prince of Hope.” You make a derisive sound. “Seemed like such a great title at the time. You’d think a prince’d be in charge of cool important stuff like sailin’ or exploration. Turned out my only job wwas to destroy. To destroy hope, in particular.” You sigh. He doesn’t say anything, and you sit down on the floor because you’re tired, so tired. You sigh again. “I’m... sorry.”

He attacks. You don’t move out of the way, don’t attempt to dodge, because honestly, you probably deserve it anyway. 

You feel his attack slam into you, and you go flying across the room to land heavily on your back. You can feel the life leaving you, and you hope this timeline keeps existing without your presence, because you think Sans deserves to actually win. Maybe that’s ridiculously sentimental of you, but you’ve always been somewhat of a hopeless romantic. He could finish you off with a single additional attack, but you don’t move to use an item or attack him back. You no longer intend to kill him. You don’t even want to attack. He walks over to you, and you give a little cough.  
“I can’t guarantee that this timeline wwill remain after I die.”  
“Course you can. Just don’t come back.” You look up at him confusedly.  
“Wwhat? Are there dreamselvves here or somethin’? You gonna kiss me after you kill me? Howw the fuck wwould I come back?”  
“It’s almost funny how you’re asking me that question, seeing as I only know of the mechanism through circumstantial evidence and have no clue as to how it actually functions.” Something in his face changes, and then you have the privilege of seeing his casual, controlled detachment evaporate. “Rest assured, I will kill you, and I will keep killing you every time you come back. I will not get tired. My hatred will not be eroded. You will die, and you will give up.” You smile grimly, and close your eyes.  
“If I didn’t knoww any better I’d think you wwere blackflirtin wwith me.” He raises his hand quickly, and you raise off the ground so he can grab the front of your shirt and slam your against the wall. You grin, and look him in the eye.  
“What are you doing?”  
“Got nothin’ to lose, don’t I?” He glares, and one of his eyes goes freaky glowy. “But if you aren’t gonna kiss me why’re you holdin’ me up against the wwall, hmm?” He leans forwards, and your lips part with a soft noise because wow, you kind of do despise him and wow, he’s right here, also that look in his eyes is intense and you can see the hatred he’s feeling, so you figure, hey, why not, you mutter ‘fuck it’ under your breath, and lean in to kiss him. 

It’s a strange sensation, because he’s cold and the surface of his... bones, you guess, is, well, hard. It doesn’t shape itself against your lips, and even though it’s hella weird you somewhat like it; it’s similar to kissing someone’s horns, back on Alternia. You don’t get much time to take in details, though, because he pulls away, and you open your eyes just in time to see his fist flying towards your face.

Damn, that hurts. You spit out some blood and grin.  
“Hi.” He scowls at you, and then you fly across the room again as he extends his arm behind him. You slam into the wall and just slide down to sit on the floor, your back to him because you don’t want to hold up your head and the wall is a good place to rest your forehead on.

You hear his footsteps under the sound of your labored breathing, and let your eyes slip shut as the familiar sensation of death washes over you.

**Author's Note:**

> comment to make my 15 yr old self explode with joy


End file.
